The Hime and the Kitsune Prince
by Shadow Silver Fang
Summary: The tale of the Hime and the Kitsune Prince. The tale of Shippo's mother and father, and what obstacles they overcame to have a fully demon son. Rated M for mature situations that most parents would not find suitable for children.
1. Prologue Diary Entry 1

**Proglogue**

**The Tale Begins**

_I was born to two powerful fox demons, in the most powerful clan known. My father ruled over the Southern region of Japan, a taiyoukai that rivaled even Inutaisho, great Demon of the West. My father's coat is what I remember most. It was the purest white I think I ever saw. It was like snow falling from the heavens. My mother was a beautiful fox, with fur like fire. When she took her human looking form she was truly the most beautiful living thing on the earth. I remember her voice as she wished me sweet dreams on warm, summer nights. She would sing too, out on her balcony when she was sure no one was there to hear. I always listened; staying up until the dawn broke, her words washing over me like a warm blanket. Her song was bewitching. No other song could compare. _

_I recall that during my younger years of life my family was at peace with the Western lands. I may even go as far as to say that my father and Inutaisho were friends, often vanishing for weeks to hunt, or scour the land. Often times my mother and I would be left with his mate and young son, Sesshomaru. His son was older than me, but only by a few years. He couldn't have been more than three years my senior. I was only thirteen at the time. It's hard to remember so far back in my life, but a few key moments stand out in my mind, like bold letters on a blank page. One thing I remember is how cold he seemed to be. His outward expression being one of cold disconnection from the world. It often frightened me, though I was never to show it. To show fear for another would disgrace my father, my family, and my station. I remember once that I stayed up to listen to my mother sing while they were staying with us. I sat on the railing of my balcony, which was just above that of Sesshomaru. I fell from my balcony as a gust of wind from the north buffeted against the building. I landed with a cry of pain on his balcony and looked up to see him watching me. One of his brows was raised; his eyes were slightly droopy, as though he had been resting. It was, I recall, a very seductive scene. Had I been older, and less than straight, I may have been turned on by it. His kimono was slightly askew, showing one of his shoulders and part of his chest. His hair was wild and long, sparkling in the moonlight. _

_I remember feeling frightened as he rose from his bed and began to approach, believing he would strike out to kill me. But as he moved, his hair swinging slightly behind him, his foot caught on one of my mother's imported rugs, brought to her from India. I watched, shocked by the fact that it was even possible, as he stumbled, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Something between us changed that night, though I could never quite put my finger on it. It was as though I had witnessed his moment of weakness, and he respected me a little more. After that he never quite frightened me. But only days later, as our fathers returned, did I realize we would never truly be friends. Our fathers seemed angry with each other, and just as they left, Inutaisho's eyes red with rage, I pressed a medallion into Sesshomaru's hand. He looked at it questioningly, his eyes darting to the identical one I wore around my neck. _

_I managed to mouth four words before the three dog demons took to the sky, " Always peace between us."_

_I never saw him again after that, but none of that matters now. _

_After all, I'm dead. _


	2. Bittersweet Victory

Well, I know it's a bit late, but here's the first chapter. But before I go into the chapter, a few people asked some questions in their reviews that desperately need answering.

The prologue is in the POV of Shippo's dead father, who I have named Shiggo.

The story will only mention Kagome once or twice in passing. Like mentions of a powerful miko working with a hanyou in the west.

Kagome won't be dying in my story, it will follow the direct storyline and even the pairings…grumbles about inuyasha being an ass

Fan art for this fic is enjoyed and encouraged! I would enjoy having a visual of Shiggo falling into Sesshomaru's room. So, please, don't be afraid to send it in. Stick figures are even welcomed!

So, enjoy, have fun, and here's the next chapter!

**xXx**

**Chapter One**

**Bittersweet Victory**

Great plumes of black smoke rose from the bloodied battlefield, blocking out the sun and casting odd shadows over the few survivors of the terrific battle. Both demon and human corpses littered the ground, their blood staining the earth and creating a large field of copper-hued mud. The hundred, or so, survivors were all of one race; Kitsune. Their ears and tales were caked with blood and dirt, their armor stained red with the innards of both friend and foe. One of the demons still held a sword in hi hand, dripping with the blood of his last foe, who's mangled body lay at his feet, eyes open, staring blankly at the heavens. The fox's hair was cream colored, somewhat sandy; his eyes were blue and sparkled with tears. He was breathing heavily, arms dropped to his sides as he took in the scene of battle, where so many of his comrades had fallen.

Beside him, on his right, stood a fox with red hair, tangled and turned brown from dried blood. The fox's eyes were brown, clear, and without sadness. His tail swished back and forth behind him, his breath came in even, deep inhalations. On his other side stood another fox, this time with dark brown, almost black, hair. His eyes were cold, steely gray. Both held themselves like bodyguards for the creamy fox in between.

The cream colored fox turned to the group standing behind him and raised his sword. His voice rang clear in the heavy air, his eyes darting from one face to another.

" Friends, family," his eyes closed briefly, " We have been victorious! But ours is a bittersweet victory, for many have been lost. We will go home now, to our families, our lovers, our mates and children. And when we get home, we will fill our bellies, bathe in warm water, and mourn for those who have been lost."

A cheer went up through the ranks, and many foxes raised their own weapons in salute to their prince. The prince, whose name was Shiggo, sheathed his sword and stood tall, turning to face the forest, which surrounded the field of death. He began to move, slowly at first, then faster, running through the trees and towards the warmth of his home, the waiting arms of his mother, and his father's approving face. He almost shivered at the thought of the waiting arms of his many lovers. The female hand maids that had been assigned to him were all very beautiful, and seemed to have a knack for seducing him into their arms.

He could almost feel their soft hands and silky hair; see their eyes boring into his. He blinked and focused on the path ahead, his hands tightening into fists.

**xXx**

The journey home took nearly two days. On the way the small band of survivors found another small band of enemy survivors. They dispatched them quickly, losing another of their own, and continued on, eager to reach the protection of the city walls.

They were greeted by a large gathering of city dwellers. Both smiles and tears met their return, bringing back the fresh memories of battle and bloodshed. Shiggo was immediately pulled away from the welcoming party by his father's personal guard, who escorted him to the palace. It was bigger than it had been three years ago, when he had first set out with his army to fight the wars of the Japan. It seemed that another wing had been added on, though for what was a mystery. The welcoming warmth of the sand colored walls, relaxed the young prince, the familiar sights and scents truly telling him that the war he had been fighting for so long was over.

The soft breeze that filtered in through the open hallways was warm, and smelled of lavender. It was bright outside, the courtyard that lay just beyond the thin, translucent curtains was teeming with life; from flowers in full bloom, to young women that were members of the great Taiyoukai's estate.

Shiggo sighed and a vision of his beautiful mother crossed his mind, making his step quicken slightly. Hopefully his prolonged absence had not distressed her. He could almost feel her loving embrace, and was surprised to find that within a moment he was actually in it. Her unique scent filled his senses, and her soft, warm skin, contented him. He could hear her heart beating beneath her breast, and feel the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

" My dearest son," she cooed, her voice soft, like a doves, " At last you have returned."

" Mother," he whispered, burying his face in her translucent robes, " I missed you."

" And I you," she responded, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his dirt covered brow, " But at least you have returned, alive and well."

" Father will be furious," Shiggo said slowly, " So many of ours died. And I'm so very tired."

" Sleep well, then go to your father," she said, her clawed fingers moving through his matted hair, " I will see to it that he behaves himself."

Shiggo pulled away and kissed her cheek, " Thank you mother."

He paused and held her gaze for a moment, the face of one of his closest and oldest friends flashing through his mind, " Mother… Mikoto was killed in battle."

His mother's eyes filled with sadness and she nodded once, solemnly, " I shall contact his pack… his death will not go unnoticed."

He watched her walk away, her dark red hair swaying softly behind her, her bare feet padding gently on the marble ground. Her skin was paler than it had been when he left, perhaps she had been more distressed than she seemed. He sighed and turned away, walking back the way he had come and turning down a series of darkened hallways. Nothing had changed, except the flowers in the vases that lined the nearly endless walkways.

He nearly cried as he moved, happier than he had been in years, while sadder than he had been in his life. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, basking in the scent and feel of his home, where he had been born and raised. He pushed aside a thicker curtain that hung over a large doorway and looked in on the bathing area. It was one of the largest rooms in the palace, dwarfed only by the gargantuan meeting hall. He stripped off his soiled clothes and ran clawed fingers over his tender flesh. He traced new scars, and examined old ones, watching his fingers with a feeling of being disconnected from his body. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing slightly as his claws snagged in the knots and crusted blood. With a sigh and a slight groan of pain he lowered himself to the sandy colored tiles on that made up the floor and allowed his feet to slip into the hot water.

He watched as the surface dirt lifted away, mixing with softening blood and floating on the surface of the bath. He slowly slid in, his hands supporting the slow motion until he was submerged up to his chest. He pulled a wash cloth from the pile of towels that was always left beside the bath and began to scrub; rubbing so hard that once the dirt was gone the flesh was bright red. He reached to the side and pulled a small vile of sticky liquid towards him, lifting it above his head and allowing it to spill over his hair. He worked it in, massaging his scalp and closing his eyes as the spicy scent began to relax him. He slipped beneath the surface and ruffled his long hair, getting rid of the mixture of fruit and spices. He resurfaced and inhaled deeply, his eyes remaining closed and long locks covering his face, water pouring off of them and streaming down to join with the main body.

He wiped his face after a moment and pushed the hair away, his claws grazing his flesh and leaving long red lines. He inhaled sharply as visions of bloodshed and death flashed through his mind. He cried out as more memories resurfaced, tears coming to his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. He grabbed his head in both hands and willed the visions away, a brief flash of his dead friend's face coming to mind before he was left, shaking and naked, in the tub. He dragged himself up and out of the water, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist as he moved sluggishly from the large room. He stumbled down the empty halls, glad none of his father's servants were there to witness his pain. As he approached his room he paused, memories of his friend as a young pup jumping to mind and tormenting him. He slid open his door and gazed around the dark room, taking in the details and remembering the long hours spent wishing for something more eventful to happen.

He moved to his futon bed and slid to his knees, crawling onto the cushion and curling into a ball. He pulled his thin silk blanket over his body and closed his eyes tightly, wishing for dreamless sleep.

xXx

If someone could draw that scene in the bath room where he sees his friend, I would love you forever!


End file.
